Diaries of a Scattered Mind
by Galad-din-Gwarghirr
Summary: Can the monsters feel like we do? Can they love and hate, can they feel the sorrow torning them apart, like we do? Perhaps, some of them are the prisoners of fate like so many of us are, chains of time holding them captive in their own past? In the crossroads of redemption and sorrow, a young man is bestowed upon the wisdom of a lifetime. A broken mind meets a broken will.
1. Confessions of Time

_Confessions of Time_

_Prologue : The Blinding Ambition_

_"My child."_

_A deep voice spoke to me._

_I dared not rise my head and look up, for I did not care. The bartender was standing above me as I sat, waiting for my order. I had already satisfied it with blood. He did not know._

_"Perhaps you are mistaken. I am here to talk. About you."_

_About me? Was my ill deed discovered so quickly? He was here to take me away, to strip me of my status and my apprenticeship. I would expect no less, for it would be merely giving me what I deserved. _

_I looked up to my to-be warden. Even had I willed it, I dould resistance would be fruitful, for he was a mighty man, with a well-built body in his long robes. I could not see his face, nor did I need to._

_"You misunderstand my intention. I mean no harm, I merely wish to speak."_

_With that he sat besides me without asking permisson, and spoke._

_"I know what you have done. But I feel you also need to know, that you are not the first person ever to make mistakes. Horrible as it may be, any sin can be paid for. Without, the penalty of death."_

_He knew indeed. But, who was this man? He cannot be a summoner. If it were so, his approach to the matter would be completly different. Who was he, then? And why would he care?_

_"You have questions, that much is clear. Simply know that I am a man with a story to share. Nothing more, nothing less. A fable of wonderous deeds and events, of wars and magic, and the might of arms. Adventure and love, rise and fall. Men and abomination."_

_"I shall hold your secret, but in return, I wish you to hear out my tale. __I feel that my story shall be the comfort of us both. So young man, do we have a deal?"_

_I leaned against my chair. What is done is done. Let us hear him out._

* * *

><p>This is the beginning of a long story that I'll be mostly making up as I go. For now I will not be revealing the protagonist, nor any other characters that are included, I'll leave it to the readers to discover them on their own, as my humble story progresses. For now, I'm just a man with a story to share.<p> 


	2. Children of War

Children of War

_Decades earlier..._

It was the reflection of harmony. One could travel far and wide, make camp in every corners of the world, sail across oceans and visit the envy of nations, but one could never find the equal of this untouched country in pureness, nature and beauty. The war would dare not stain the soil of this wandering isle. Disease could not hope to corrupt it. Chaos had no place in the heart of balance. In a diveded continent of mixed intentions and origins, this realm stood out as a heaven of hope, and comfort. The safeness of it's people were not dictated by laws, the untrustable blood did not rule the country with an iron grip, nor the strength and the ambition of the invidual could shape it's fate. The folk were good in heart, their minds clear of dark passions.

_Ionia was a land of freedom; spiritual and worldly alike._

In the massive countryside were villages and towns, nomads, and temples, for the culture of the island was somewhat alien in comparison to the mainland realms of men. Ionia had always been rather different. Mountains span freely across it's map, great rivers and proud forests. Nature was in true balance with the inhabitants. They were fierce as they were kind and welcoming, a people of true patriots.

Valoran was a land of war and struggle. The life was not easy. Nations were hostile to one another and the bitterness would often turn into open warfare every now and then. Ionia would attract numberless hordes of helpless refugees in such times, and the kind islanders would gladly let them in, provide them with shelter and the hard-found peace.

_Ionians were the guardians of peace and balance, and even those who were not born to the land would come to embrace it's code. _

* * *

><p><em>Regi listened to the wind singing, he loved feeling as it played with his hair and went over his skin. <em>

_This was his favorite spot. There was an old tree, atop a hill that was located at a perfect distance to the river. Overlooking all the beauties his valley had to offer. The woods, oceans of grasslands and the sweet homes of his fellow countrymen. At dawn, the birds would come to hear him play his flute, and cats and dogs, and other children, and at dusk, the sun would hail him as it would unwillingly depart away, crossing the mountains and into the unknown beyond, leaving a cloak of darkness in it's path. Then the moon would rise, and Regi would softly dive into his land of dreams, knowing that the white guardian would watch over his homeland, and he would sleep in peace. _

_Often he would bring along his father's old fishing rod, and swing it over the shores of the river, casting away his troubles at the same time. There he would sit for hours, With the whispers of wind, songs of Ionian soil and the comfort of memory easing his mind. The boy loved it more than anything else in his little, unremarkeble life._

_As he grew, however, his passions grew with him. The boy heard the tales of war and fighting. He heard the legendary paladins of Demacia, the Jarvans, fighting for justice and righteousness. He listened to the stories of the Hands of Noxus; juggernauts of destruction and unstoppable lords of war, he could not help but admire the unyielding champions of the North, heroes of Freljord, and he was astonished by the myths of the south; the many monsters of the plague forests, and stunned by the adventures of the pirates of Bilgewater, merciless, reckless sea dogs. Warriors were different, but the art of war was all the same. For war, would never change._

_Like any other young boy, one day, his own time of martial training would come, and then he could follow his dreams, travel the world as a wandering adventurer; and forge his own tale in the tides of war. Then, it would be his story that would be told. Tales of his deeds would go across the seas._

_Leaning against his tree, his hands behind his neck and his eyes staring into the starts of the night from the edge of his straw hat, Regi smiled to himself. _

_The stars. Bright, blue torches in an unending cover of dark. Out of the entire sea of stars, ones that had seemingly formed a figure had the attention of his sleepy eyes. The brighetest star he had ever seen in his life, was in the center. And around it were six others, forming a circle of sorts. He stared on, slowly slipping into his dreams in the process, but he would remember. _

_'That is my guiding star.'_

_He thought to himself._

_Then all went truly dark. The boy had to be prepared for the challanges that awaited him tomorrow._

* * *

><p>It was dawn. Dawn of a new day, and a new era. For Regi at least.<p>

His training was beginning just in a few hours. It was Ionia's ancient tradition to master the way of arms, and it would had to begin in an early age. He was almost 14 now, and he was more than ready.

So he found himself climbing up the seemingly endless stairs leading to the Temple entrance. All the young boys and girls of the entire region had to carry out this journey to the Mount Moajin, where the ancient home of the monks was seated, led by the legendary Elder of the Highs. The young, the old, the rich and the poor alike would all seek this place in their times of need, hoping to receive guidance and wisdom from the monks. Younglings like himself would fill the chambers of the grand structure in the beginning of each summer, hoping to prove themselves worthy and either join the ranks of their respected teachers, or become guardians of their homeland, which was a task of unmatched honor. The Temple of Windsguard was the pearl of the northern regions, where the proudest and the most relentless of all the Ionians lived. Temple was known mostly for the warriors it bred, rather than monks.

Finally reaching the top, he paused and stared in awe, still in disbelief that he actually made it to the place where all his dreams would come true. He had always imagined himself making the journey and climbing the stairs. This was where his story had begun. He knew that as soon as he stepped inside that Temple, there would be no going back. Around him was a sea of younglings like himself, on the beginnings of the same path. But his adventure, would be unique. Regi felt it somwhere deep.

He grinned as he made his way into the gigantic courtyard, towards his destiny.


End file.
